


Where is It?

by moritzofsuburbia



Category: American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Heroin, Implied Relationships, Implied toxic relationship, Multi, Needles, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8770198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moritzofsuburbia/pseuds/moritzofsuburbia
Summary: He keeps coming back. Not because he wants to, but because he has no choice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this probably a year ago and figured I'd post it since I still don't have anything new finished. Trigger warning for heroin use and a toxic friendship/relationship/whatever you think it is. I don't even know.

"Where the fuck _is_ it?"

"Why should I tell you? Thought you didn't want it."

"I never said that, and you goddamn know it. This isn't a fuckin' joke." Johnny resumed his frantic search, this time digging through the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of the mattress – one could hardly call the thing a bed.

_Heart pulsing, brain humming, composure unraveling._

"Told ya' you shouldn't have gone off with that chick again. I can't believe you actually lasted two days before coming back for a hit." The saint leaned against the frame of the open window, letting chilly air in and cigarette smoke out. Come on, had Johnny boy really not expected some kind of backlash after what he'd done? He was spending more and more time with that bitch – and, well, something needed to be done to remind him who he truly belonged to.

So Jimmy had gathered up his stash of dope and hidden it somewhere in the apartment just before lover boy had returned home.

Johnny's stomach clenched, threatening to spill what little contents it had. You could see how much he needed it through his eyes alone, desperation filling them to the brim.

Saint Jimmy stood smoking his cigarette unflinchingly, because this was the reaction he'd expected and the reaction he'd wanted. It gave him a sort of sick satisfaction to watch Johnny's frenzied search for the object of his fixation, the salvation he'd returned for. And he had thought he'd be able to find that salvation in some whore whose name he didn't even know. _Oh, poor Johnny, you're fooling yourself._ "Look at me," the saint demanded, but he had to walk over to Johnny and grab his shoulder to fully gain his attention. "I said look at me." He jerked him around, forcing their gazes to meet, keeping a tight grip on the collar of his shirt.

Johnny immediately went from angry and desperate to just plain frightened.

"Got your attention now?"

"Come on, man, you can't do this, just tell me where it is." His pleas sounded damn near childlike.

"The shit belongs to me, doesn't it? You're just another fuckin' client," he sneered in response, bringing his face mere inches from Johnny's as he leered over him. "Thought you'd prove to be more than that, but hell, maybe I was mistaken. Now you listen to me, and don't you forget what I'm saying. When you run off without warning to spend the next few days in this slut's bed, that's you telling me that you ain't grateful for all the shit I've done for you. You were nothing before you came here, remember? You came here to make something of your life instead of sitting on your ass in Jingletown. And you're telling me you'd take this life I've given you and throw it away for some trashy whore just because she's a good lay. Am I right?"

No point in arguing and denying, that would only serve to lessen his chances of getting his fix, so Johnny only shook his head. His voice would have betrayed him. He should never try to explain to Jimmy that this girl meant more than that, that he didn't choose to stick around her just because the sex was good, that she had thoughts and opinions and feelings that she shared with him and he shared in return and it gave him a sense of connection that he'd never had before with a girl he might have loved. These words were useless with St. Jimmy, so Johnny only shook his head.

"She'll make you quit." His voice was softer this time, but the implication just as strong. "Guarantee you that. A girl like her isn't gonna understand. She'll want you to clean yourself up, which, believe me, you do not wanna try. It puts you through hell. And why would you wanna live without this shit now that you've got it, anyway? Come on, when's the last time you felt as happy as you do when you're high? When's the last time you felt like you were on top of the world, the way that the dope makes you feel? Nothing compares, baby."

 _What about the way that_ she _makes me feel_ , he wanted to counter, but that was the wrong answer. His head hung, every limb weighed down with defeat.

Finally the grip on his shirt was released and he was shoved, stumbling, away. "Under the floorboards behind the mattress," and Johnny was sent running the second the words left his saint's lips. Sure enough, his hands found a few boards that felt more loose than the others, and he lifted them up to reveal their stash, the stash that Saint Jimmy made clients pay good money for, but for some reason let Johnny have for free. Any threats of making him pay had always been empty, the shit had always just been placed right into Johnny’s waiting hands.

Until now, apparently. Until he started to realize there was a price he was paying that didn’t involve money.

Jimmy finished up his cigarette and tossed the butt out the window, paying little attention to Johnny until he heard him whimper pathetically from the floor. The kid had gotten as far as melting the shit down and getting it into the syringe, but then he was looking up at the saint with an expression that was downright pitiful, and he could tell that Johnny’s hand was shaking too much to let him hit the vein properly.

“Can you…?” Johnny trailed off, probably embarrassed to even be asking for help after all that had just occurred.

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake_. The saint scoffed, but gave in, striding over to where Johnny sat next to the mattress and kneeling down beside him. “What would you do without me, kid,” Jimmy muttered, tightening the rag they used as a tourniquet before lining the needle up with Johnny’s vein. There was a nice, neat line of circular scars running up his arm, all of which were fading. They’d be replaced with fresh ones soon enough.

The question had been rhetorical, but Johnny shook his head, wincing a bit when the needle sank in. “Die, probably,” he answered as the sweet poison slowly flooded his body.

The answer may have been unneeded, but it pleased the saint anyway. “Right.” As he released the rest of the substance, he looked up at Johnny’s face, watching it go from the initial grimace of pain to that blissed-out expression he’d become so familiar with. “You need me. Not that bitch. Not your pals back in fuckin’ Jingletown. You need me.”

“Yeah,” Johnny replied automatically, his head falling back a bit as the needle was pulled out. It was starting. Holy _shit_ , was it starting. “I love you, Jimmy, you know?”

Jimmy tossed the syringe back into the little box, before standing up and walking away. "Enjoy the dope while it lasts."


End file.
